And so I learned to hide.
My camouflage protecting me
from pain,
but keeping both the freaks
and the norms at bay.

Underneath the noise,
a place of peace
and disorientation.
No toys to cling to
or identify us.
A reality of nothing;
not even words to
define the emptiness.
Feeling relief from
the lack of badness,
but rallying against
the lack of goodness.
Who’d have thought
just being would
be so hard.

I took a rest after being
My best
But still failing the test
Of my own perfection.

What happened in that pause, when I looked
At the cause
Of my suffering and yours?
I saw protection.

The ego, let loose, fights
Without a truce,
Until you're tied in a noose,
Awaiting the push of failure.

But the humans that we are seldom live
Without a scar,
And we’ve travelled so far
That we’ve earned our freedom.

Not all of his words live on
in my being;
as I wasn’t aware
there’d be a test
to revise for.

But the ones I have left
help me see
and give me shelter,
so I carry them with care
and share them often.

Knit, knit, knit away.
Life unfolds
under the needles’ sway,
creating lovely order,
bit by bit,
and soothing memories form
for you to display.

The neat rows of wool,
that now exist,
allow a whispered hope for
beauty in the mist.

It spurs you on to focus
and industriously look for meaning -
saving dropped stitches
can’t be your reason for being!

But it’s hard to not be entranced
by the sound of click, click, click.
So, though your
search continues,
you still knit, knit, knit.

‘Don’t save’,
I have nothing to say
Today.
I’ll just wait,
For the rush of inspiration,
Busy with the fear
Of never
Writing
Again.

I write for the words,
Not the glory.
I write for the pleasure,
Not the fame.
To frame a piece of my life
That’s important
And to ponder its place
In the game.